


Moondawn Flowers

by winter_hiems



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Canon-Typical The Lonely Content (The Magnus Archives), Comfort, Crying, Curses, Declarations Of Love, Don't copy to another site, Feelings, First Kiss, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Jon taking his ultimate form of a repressed Victorian gentleman, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Has a Crush, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist With a Cane, Kissing, M/M, Making tea is Martin's love language, Martin Blackwood Has a Crush, Martin Blackwood Has a Crush on Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Mutual Pining, No Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Requited Unrequited Love, Self-Esteem Issues, Shapeshifting, Tenderness, canon-typical trauma, mention of body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 18:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30144084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_hiems/pseuds/winter_hiems
Summary: Victorian England. Mr Jonathan Sims is, publicly, a private detective. In actual fact, he is employed by Her Majesty’s Government to deal with crimes that are too supernatural for the police to handle.He is also hopelessly in love with his assistant Martin. But Jon is under a curse, so there’s no possibility that Martin will ever love him back. Or at least, that’s what Jon thinks.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 89





	Moondawn Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: mention of blood, a single mention of vomiting, nothing graphic.

The two men walked down the street with a purpose. 

The shorter of the two was named Mr Jonathan Sims. His clothes were plain but well-cut, his skin was a smooth brown, and he looked to be in his early forties, but this was only because his face was prematurely lined, and his hair was prematurely greying. He carried a silver-topped cane in his right hand, and an unlit lantern in his left. 

The other man also carried a lantern. Taller than Mr Sims by at least half a foot, Mr Martin Blackwood’s clothes were older and more worn than Mr Sims’. Sometimes, as they walked, Mr Blackwood would run his free hand through wavy hair that stubbornly refused to be neatened, not matter how hard he tried. Unlike Mr Sims, the stress of the job hadn’t yet had any effect on his looks, so Mr Blackwood appeared to be thirty or so, which he was. 

Mr Sims was, publicly, a private detective. In actual fact, he was employed by Her Majesty’s Government to deal with crimes that were too supernatural for the police to handle. He had only got the job a few years previously, taking over from a spinster named Gertrude Robinson after her very-much-not-natural death. 

Unfortunately for him, his first case on the job had been dealing with her murderer, a body-snatching sorcerer named Jonah Magnus, who had managed to deal Mr Sims a very unpleasant curse before he had been stopped. This curse necessitated Mr Blackwood’s presence, when Jon would much rather have been working his cases alone, with his assistants doing useful research instead of taking shifts to trail him around everywhere. 

The curse had been mitigated by various spells, but this had not got rid of it straight away. All it really meant was that the curse would lessen over time until it vanished, a process that would take well over a year, and very likely two. 

Until then, if Jon was to find himself in complete darkness, he would transform into something very unpleasant and totally mindless, which would then proceed to kill all humans in the vicinity until light was reintroduced to the situation and Jon turned back. 

He slept in a locked basement, a dozen large candles burning to keep the dark at bay, chained to the bed in case something caused the candles to snuff out before dawn. 

Today, it was Martin’s turn to stay with Jon, to try and prevent the curse from being triggered, and to contain him if it was. 

The men counted each other friends, but it was an awkward sort of friendship, given that they were both deeply and hopelessly in love with each other. 

Neither had said anything on the subject. 

Jon did not reveal his feelings for Martin because of the curse – as far as Jon was concerned, until the curse wore off he was a dangerous monster, and he couldn’t comprehend that Martin would be attracted to him having seen him like _that_ so many times. 

Martin said nothing about his feelings for Jon because Jon was several social classes above him, and Martin did not count himself handsome or charismatic enough to make Jon forget the stratifications of society. 

Today, both of them were nervous. Their current investigation into the highly suspicious activities of the Church of the Divine Host was taking them somewhere they classed as ‘high risk’ for setting off the effects of Jon’s curse – a church with every window boarded over. 

Outside, Jon and Martin lit their lanterns, and hoped that it would be enough. 

*

Jon’s hands had started trembling the moment they entered the gloom of the church, but the two bright lanterns were enough to keep the curse contained. 

Until half a dozen members of the Church of the Divine Host threw themselves at Jon and Martin, and the lanterns were both smashed. 

Martin heard bones crack and flesh tear as Jon transformed with a long, wordless cry that heightened into a scream, then cut off completely. He could hear the Church members struggling with the thing Jon had become, and crawled away from the commotion, one hand digging into the inside pocket of his jacket. 

He took out the necklace he found there, and pulled it over his head. There wasn’t an amulet like it anywhere else in the world – unlike the Divine Host, Martin would be protected from the creature. The thing Jon became wouldn’t be able to sense him while he was warded. 

With the necklace on, Martin pulled out a candle and a matchbook from another pocket, the screams of the Church members echoing in his ears as something they couldn’t see tore them limb from limb. 

Martin struck a match, lit the candle, and cast his eyes over the dimly lit scene. 

The Church members were all in pieces, and the thing that Jon had become was roaming its way around the church, all tentacles and staring eyes, searching for more victims and finding none. 

The graveyard had been empty when they entered the church, and the walls around the graveyard had been high and made of stone. Which mean that when Martin unbolted the main doors to the church and threw them open, letting in the light, there was nobody to see an inhuman monstrosity struggle and contort itself back to being Jonathan Sims. 

Now fully human and on his hands and knees, Jon threw up onto the church’s flagstones. 

Martin pretended that he didn’t see it, in the same way that he pretended not to see Jon’s tears. He knew how humiliating Jon found the aftermath of the transformations, how Jon wished that there were nobody around to see. 

Jon’s clothes had been shredded when he shifted shape, and he was covered in blood. As he sat shivering on the floor, Martin took a closer look at the bodies of the Church members. He stripped one of them of their shirt and handed it to Jon to clean himself up with as best he could. 

As Jon wiped off the blood, Martin managed to cobble together an outfit for Jon from the other Church members’ clothes, and passed them over for Jon to change into. 

He tried to keep his eyes off Jon as he dressed. A naked Jon Sims was something that Martin found – distracting, to say the least. 

Luckily, Jon’s shoes and his cane had both survived, so Martin passed them to him, and, once Jon was fully dressed, said, “Do you think you can stand?” 

Jon swallowed, clearly still nauseous. His skin had a greyish cast to it. “I’ll need some – assistance.” 

Leaning on his cane with one arm and leaning on Martin with the other, Jon managed to stand, though he’d been badly weakened by his ordeal, and would be exhausted for at least the next day. 

Martin saw his expression as they stepped around the bodies on their way out of the church. “It’s the curse, not you, Jon. Not your fault.” 

“It doesn’t feel that way,” said Jon hoarsely. 

They hired a hansom cab to take them back to Jon’s house. On the ride back, Jon couldn’t hold himself upright, and had to lean against Martin for support, still shaking uncontrollably. 

Arriving, Martin helped Jon down from the carriage and let Jon lean on his arm again as they let themselves in. 

Sasha and Tim, Jon’s other assistants, met them in the hall. Taking one look at Jon’s scavenged clothing and the way Martin was supporting him, they knew what had happened. 

While Sasha sent a message to arrange the clean-up of the church and Tim fetched Jon a spare set of clothes, Martin sat Jon down in the kitchen, and made him a cup of tea, wishing he could do more to comfort Jon, and knowing that he couldn’t. 

*

Jon ran, cursing himself for not realising the danger until it was far, far too late. 

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Ever since the curse had faded, he’d been spending more time away from his assistants, away from Martin, no longer needing constant supervision to go through the day. Except that the distance meant that he hadn’t known that Peter Lukas had taken an interest in Martin. 

And now Martin had been taken and if Jon didn’t find him then Martin would be trapped forever, and Jon would never be able to tell him how he – that he – 

Jon banished the thought and ran on, trying not to think about what he’d done to Peter Lukas. Jon could have called himself a sorcerer if he wanted to, but he’d never felt like the term fitted him. Still, he had enough power that when Lukas had thrown a hex at him, he’d deflected it. If he’d known that the hex was fatal, he would have tried something else. Peter Lukas was not a good person, but he hadn’t deserved to die like that. 

The place Jon was running through was a dimension slightly off to one side of reality, a place of emptiness and swirling mists. Jon cast spell after spell, getting closer to Martin each time, but it still felt like it was taking far, far too long. 

There. A figure silhouetted against the mist. Martin, his face slack. 

“Martin. Martin, it’s me.” 

“… Jon?” Martin’s voice was distant, almost disinterested. “Are you real?” 

“Yes. I’m here. It’s alright, Lukas is gone, I’m going to get you out of here.” 

“You don’t have to.” 

“What?” 

“Nobody will miss me.” 

No. No no no. “That’s not true, I’ll miss you, Martin you can’t – you can’t stay here.” 

“Yes I can.” He sounded so faded, this awful place draining him of his soul. “You’ll forget me eventually.” A sigh as Martin stared off into the blank white distance. “I really loved you, you know.” 

Jon’s voice cracked. “Then come back with me. This – this isn’t you, this is what Peter Lukas has done to you, and you’re stronger than that, I know you can break the spell.” Jon took Martin’s face in his hands. Martin didn’t meet his gaze, his eyes out of focus. “Please, Martin. Look at me. Look at me.” 

A soft frown. “… Jon?” 

He sounded like himself again. Jon could have laughed or wept. “Yes. Yes, it’s me.” 

The spell was broken. The mist vanished. They were standing on a busy London street. 

After a moment to gather their bearings, they walked back home together. 

*

Reflexively, Martin made them both tea once they were back at the house. They were both feeling the chill from the day’s events. 

Jon held his cup in both hands. “Martin, I think we ought to talk.” 

Martin frowned. “About what?” 

Jon flushed. “You – I don’t know if you remember, but while you were under Lukas’ spell, you – you said that you used to love me.” 

Now it was Martin’s turn to blush. “I – did?” 

Jon didn’t meet Martin’s eyes. “Yes. I – I suppose I’m curious about why you would – why you used to feel that way. I can’t really understand why you would… want me.” 

In a small, embarrassed voice, Martin said, “I still feel that way.” 

“But –” said Jon, “But why didn’t you ever say anything?” 

“Because there was no chance of it ever going anywhere. You’re – Jon, we’re friends, but there’s no way that… I’m a nobody. I’ve never been anything worthwhile, I got my job out of pure luck, I – there was never anything for you to see in me.” 

“That’s not true,” said Jon quietly. He took a sip of tea. “Besides, out of the two of us, you’re not a monster.” 

“Neither are you,” said Martin sharply. 

Jon set down his cup and looked up at Martin. “I was under a curse. I turned into a – creature, and I killed people.” 

“You didn’t have a choice.” 

“That doesn’t make me feel any better about what I did.” 

“I still love you.” Both Jon and Martin looked taken aback at the sheer stubbornness in Martin’s voice. “I –” said Martin, “I should not have said that. It was much to forward of me.” 

“That’s alright,” said Jon weakly. He was unused to declarations of love, but was quickly realising that he didn’t mind it if the declaration came from Martin. 

They both stood, and found themselves standing face to face. “So what do we…” Martin trailed off. 

“I…” Jon breathed. Then, stretching up on his toes, he kissed Martin. 

As far as kisses went, it was fairly chaste, but it went on for a long time. 

When they pulled apart, they were both flushed and flustered. 

“Good lord,” said Jon quietly. 

“Does this mean that we’re, ah,” Martin searched for the right world. “Courting?” 

“Would you like for us to be courting?” Jon couldn’t keep the hope out of his voice. 

Martin shot him a nervous smile. “Yes. Yes, I would.” 

Jon smiled and kissed his cheek. “Then I think we are.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the Sir Magnus Holmes short stories by Garth Nix. One of them (The Case of the Somewhat Mythic Sword) is available for free online and I definittely recommend it if you like supernatural detectives and mutual Victorian pining.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always welcome <3
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. I am not making money from this work.


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